


night rider's lament

by LoversAntiquities



Series: Codas [26]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s13e06 Tombstone, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 22:36:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12714213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: Sam and Jack are barely out the door before Dean is on Castiel, shoving him back towards the bedroom and slamming the door behind him.





	night rider's lament

Sam and Jack are barely out the door before Dean is on Castiel, shoving him back towards the bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

They haven’t kissed in weeks—months, if Dean is actually counting. Not even after he and Sam picked Castiel up at that lonesome phone booth, wet with mist and smelling of blackberries. Not even after Dean fixed Castiel’s room to his liking, and cooked them both breakfast at three in the morning, when Dean couldn’t sleep and Castiel needed company. Not even that morning, after Sam announced that he’d found a case three hours away, and Dean packed an overnight bag while Castiel watched.

No, they haven’t so much as touched beyond prolonged hugs. But this, this feels like fire, like Castiel’s very touch is a hit of every drug, all at once. Honestly, Dean has missed this, the warmth of Castiel’s mouth against his own, tongue heavy and imploring; his hands wander and tug at the jacket Dean had meticulously ironed for an hour, pulling free the silver-plated tie around his throat, until everything is loose.

Dean, however, can barely move his hands from Castiel’s face, too enrapt with pinning Castiel against the wall to do much else. “Cas,” he gasps, the first thing he’s done other than moan and rut against Castiel’s slacks. “Cas, lemme ride you, c’mon—”

How they end up on the bed is a question for another day, one where he’s level-headed and not with his brain clouded by lust. Unbuckling his belt and getting his zipper down takes more effort than Dean wants to spend, and grabbing the lube from his duffel is almost an afterthought, but Castiel ends up on the mattress of one of the chuckwagon beds—how did Sam find this hotel, anyway?—and Dean straddles him, opens himself up with Castiel’s fingers alongside his.

Not the most comfortable angle—hell, Castiel is still dressed, and he’s still got that tacky dollar store hat on his head—but Dean can’t bring himself to care, not when his dick is twitching when Castiel’s fingers stroke him just right, padding over his prostate hard enough to get the point across. Even longer than kissing, they haven’t had sex—proper sex, in a bed with the lights drawn low—in close to half a year, and Castiel being dead hasn’t helped matters.

 _Don’t think about that now_ , Dean scolds himself, pushing back on Castiel’s fingers when he pulls his own free. All he wants to do is fulfill this one inherently arousing fantasy without thinking about how he committed himself to die just a week ago, and how losing Castiel almost drove him to suicide. In reality, it did—but that’s not something to dwell on, not right now.

Apparently Castiel notices, but doesn’t push; honestly, Dean expected him to at least implore. They haven’t really… talked since Castiel got back, mostly out of fear. If they talk about it, then Dean will have to divulge just how horrific the last five weeks have been, and hearing Castiel’s side of the story might just break him.

“Dean,” Castiel says, the ardor lost in his eyes. His free hand reaches up to caress Dean’s face, and Dean falls into it, eyes closed, every bit ashamed. This was a stupid idea, anyway; they’re in some hokey tourist motel decked out in western decor, Castiel is wearing a cheap hat and Dean’s is cockeyed on his head; his boots are on the floor mingled with his pants, and his bolo half hangs off his neck. But for a few minutes, Dean had wanted this, to play up the whole fantasy of a day spent on his horse, only to seek shelter for the night with a man in chaps and a six shooter on his belt.

Maybe he really did watch too much Clint Eastwood as a child.

“Yeah,” Dean mutters, just as Castiel’s fingers slip free; he tosses his hat onto the other side of the bed. So much for that. “Maybe I rushed it a bit.”

“You’ve been worked up since last night,” Castiel comments. “You didn’t want to talk about it.”

Dean shrugs and dismounts himself, not really bothering to sit down. No longer fueled by lust, the feeling of lube against his skin is unsettling, and desperately, he wants another shower just to wash the sweat off. “It’s been weeks, Cas,” he says eventually, worming off the mattress and heading for the bathroom. To his shock, Castiel follows, slacks still tented, but not by much. As spacious as their room is, the bathroom is something to be desired, the floor space barely large enough to fit one grown man, let alone two. “I’m just a little freaked out, okay? I’ll get used to it, but… I just can’t believe you’re back.”

At his back, Castiel shrugs off his coat and removes his hat, tossing them both on the floor; the door clicks shut at some point, the lock turning. “I’m just as shocked as you are,” Castiel admits. Strong arms wrap around him while Dean dries himself with a washcloth, Castiel’s eyes reflecting in the mirror the entire time, always focused on Dean. “Something woke me. One minute I’m resting, and the next… I’m fighting myself. Or, a version of myself, I should say.”

“Must’ve been fun,” Dean grunts.

Tossing the washcloth aside, he turns and leans against the sink, Castiel’s arms now bracketing him. Something about this feels intimate, he thinks; or domestic, with him dressed from the waist up and Castiel rumpled, hair mussed in every direction. Hat hair is a good look on him. They kiss, once, Dean’s hand coming up to cup Castiel’s nape, fingers slipping just beneath his collar to feel any trace of skin he can.

 _Real_. It’s been a week, but Dean still can’t believe Castiel is real, that he isn’t stuck in a nightmare about to watch Castiel die all over again. “I was a mess,” Dean whispers, resting his head on Castiel’s shoulder. “I thought I could get over you, and the days kept passing, and you weren’t coming back, and I just… I started thinking, if I died, then maybe I’d get to see you again.”

Castiel grips Dean’s hip, squeezing tight. “Dean…”

“And I did, I died. It was for a case, and I killed myself just to save some kid who didn’t deserve to die. He just missed his mom, and I couldn’t even save him.” He stops, inhales through his mouth; Castiel holds him, exhaling into his hair. “Billie was there,” he laughs, brittle. “Billie’s the new Death in town. I got to hoping she would just let me stay there, because there wasn’t anything back home for me. I’m just holding Sam back, and Jack… All I was doing was pissing him off, because I couldn’t stand that every time I looked at him, all I could see was what I lost.”

“You haven’t lost me, though,” Castiel says.

Minutely, Dean shakes his head. “I lost you. For a month, I didn’t have you here, and after what Billie said the last time… I thought that was it. You were just gonna float around for the rest of eternity, and I was gonna have to get over you, and I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Gently, Castiel urges Dean to lift his head with a single finger; this time when they kiss, it tastes like salt, and not just from Dean’s tears. No, Castiel is joining in, his face wet with sadness, and all Dean can think about is how selfish he’s being. Dean may have lost Castiel in his own right, but Castiel lost him and every trace of his existence, and probably more.

“For hours, I tried to escape,” Castiel mentions, nosing at the crook of Dean’s jaw. “Days, maybe. My only thought was to get back to you, just to see you again. To let you know I was okay. I prayed you’d kept your number the same, and when I heard your voice…”

Dean swallows, exhaling a trembling breath through his nose. “This isn’t a dream, right?” he asks; he fists Castiel’s jacket with both hands, knuckles blanched. “Like, you’re not some shifter trying to kill me in a bathroom, are you?”

“I’m not,” Castiel laughs, wet. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come find me.”

“I didn’t think it was you,” Dean concedes. Gingerly, Castiel drags him into a hug, Dean’s bare ass still digging into the edge of the sink; despite the ache, it’s the best he’s felt in weeks, and all at once, he can relax, rocking into Castiel’s hold with ease. “I missed you, I just… I can’t live without you, man.”

“I know,” Castiel whispers; impossibly, he holds Dean tighter. “I missed you too. Killing yourself though…”

“Not one of my brighter moves,” Dean laughs, hollow.

Because really, what would’ve happened if Billie had kept his soul for eternity? What if Castiel had still been resurrected, but there’d been no one to come back home to? Neither option is entirely pleasant, and as much as Dean wants to die on a regular basis, now, he’d be leaving behind his family, and Mary, if she’s still alive. Part of him still believes she is, somewhere out there—and she’d never forgive him if she came back to an empty home.

No matter what, he has to live for them. Even if it means suffering alone, he has to keep breathing, to see the sun every morning. To wake up and see his brother happy and healthy; to see Castiel alive and whole; to keep Jack from falling into the hands of Angels and Demons alike.

For them, he’ll keep going.

“If you need to talk to someone,” Castiel starts, stealing another kiss, “you know I’d never turn you away.”

Dean nods. “I know. But you gotta promise me, you can’t go dying on me again, alright? No more stupid moves, no running off and palling around with whoever you think’s a lost cause. I need you here, man, I can’t…”

“I’ll stay,” Castiel says, sterner now, a promise he’ll most likely break at some point. But it’s a promise, and Dean will take it for what it’s worth. “Just tell me you won’t kill yourself for me. I want you to live, Dean.” Backing away, he takes Dean’s face in his hands, thumbing over the wetness spilling from his eyes. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself, not like this.”

“Okay.” The best he can, Dean nods; Castiel presses their foreheads together, and as one, they breathe. “I’m sorry I ruined sex,” Dean mutters, verging on a laugh.

“It’s alright,” Castiel chuckles. His hands fall away, only to come to rest on Dean’s hips, tugging him towards the bathroom door. “We have more than enough time once we get home.”

“Home?” Dean echoes. Pride flushes through him with Castiel’s nod. Somehow, the word means more now coming from Castiel, and with every fiber of his soul, he intends to keep Castiel there with him, for as long as he can.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to write fun times but instead it came out sad, so have some hugging in a bathroom!
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
